Hiding in Plain Sight
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Nightshifter tag: Driving around in a classic car when you're on the run isn't smart.


**Hiding in Plain Sight**  
K Hanna Korossy

Dean had never realized how many police cars were out there, even on the back roads they usually traveled. Oh, he had paid attention on occasion: when they were leaving an especially bloody scene behind, when the townsfolk or the local law had become suspicious of them, one memorable time when he'd managed to seduce the sheriff's granddaughter… But get far enough beyond city or town limits, and he stopped caring and started breathing.

He'd never been a nationwide fugitive before, however. And that Dillinger quip was starting to sound a lot less funny.

More 5-0, this one in a snazzy forest-green cruiser, appeared in Dean's rear view mirror. With a frustrated curse under his breath, he took the next turn, doubling back. It would take them hours longer to make Beaumonde this way, but couldn't be helped.

"We could just ditch the car," Sam spoke up from the passenger seat, where Dean had left him idle in his own thoughts. Ever since Milwaukee, they'd both been doing that a lot.

"What?" Dean asked, truly puzzled. "This car?"

"Yes," Sam said with exaggerated patience. "This car. The Impala."

Nope, still not making sense. "You mean, just leave her somewhere?"

"Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of selling her and buying something plain, like an SUV."

Dean stared at him incredulously. "Oh, no, tell me you did not just recommend selling my baby."

"Dean, your _baby _sticks out like a sore thumb. Every police department in the country is going to be looking for her, and us. We'd be stupid to keep her—it."

Dean would have grinned at the slip another time, but he was too busy being shocked. "_You_ stick out like a sore thumb, Goliath," he growled. "And I seem to recall you're finally on the feds' radar, too—maybe I should get rid of you, too."

Sam turned back to his window, his voice suddenly dropping. "Might not be a bad idea."

Dean really, really felt like cursing. Not that his brother was stopping him; Sam was no prude, either, when it came to language. But…as much as their situation sucked out loud, as worse as it kept getting each time Dean stupidly thought it couldn't, as tired as he was of Mr. Kill-Me-Now spreading sunshine in the front seat…he loved the kid. Would still do anything for him, to death and beyond. And if that meant protecting him from himself as well as any outside threats, Dean would do that, too.

He cleared his throat, which pretty much announced _hearts-and-flowers moment coming_. Let Sam tease. Dean preferred obnoxious-little-brother Sam to hurting-broody Sam.

"I don't give up on the things I care about."

Sam turned back to him, expression unexpectedly whimsical. "Are you talking about the car or me?"

"Both," Dean said flatly.

Sam looked at him a moment before turning away. He nodded. "I know you don't."

They covered a few more uneventful miles, passing a lot of cows, a sign touting the best cider in the state, and a kid on a moped.

"We could get the car repainted, white or something."

"Only after you dye your hair blond," Dean shot back.

That ended that conversation.

00000

They settled into a new motel room and a new routine that evening: Sam getting the room, Sam going out to buy food, Dean parking the car in the back-most, darkest corner of the parking lot. He stood and studied it with a critical eye for a long moment, debating maybe at least a license plate change, but…nah. Wouldn't help much, anyway, and they were in this together, all three of them, as they were. He'd rebuffed Sam's halfhearted offer to get a haircut, claiming next he'd want Dean to grow his own out, but that wasn't the real issue. Dean needed some permanence in his life. He wasn't going to let hunting take any more away from him.

Sam had been quiet, but then, that wasn't unusual. They both had a lot on their minds, and Dean knew when to pry and when to leave it alone. Right now, Sam was just sorting, and it would only be time to step in when he finished sorting and came to the wrong conclusion. Like that really he was the one putting them at risk. Funny how he never brought up the same about Dean despite his probably being on the Ten Most Wanted list now. Good to know there were some things Sam wasn't willing to sacrifice, either. Now if he'd just add himself to the list…

"I'm going out," Sam announced out of the blue, snapping shut their dad's journal and rising to his feet.

Dean blinked at him. "What, now? Dude, it's almost midnight."

Sam returned the look evenly. "Yeah, and? There some kind of curfew?"

"No," Dean muttered. "Just wondering what happened to the guy who liked to turn in early."

"He's changed," Sam said softly. "Things have changed. We need some cash, and you need to lay low for a while."

"Sam, I doubt the good ol' boys down at the local bar are gonna recognize me from the Milwaukee news."

"No, but any off-duty local law might, especially if you start hustling and draw attention to yourself. We can't afford that right now, Dean."

"I know that, okay? I'm not an idiot. But I'm not gonna be hiding under rocks the rest of my life, either." Anger, most of it not at Sam, bubbled over like an overheated radiator. The analogy was apt. Dean had felt the simmer inside turn into a boil the last two days, under pressure from both the visible four walls and the invisible tightening net around him.

Sam's expression softened, not in pity, which Dean would have wiped right off his face, but in understanding. Dean wasn't the only one who'd been feeling the noose. "I know. Tomorrow, all right? We'll put more distance between us and Wisconsin and then we'll give it a try. Please, Dean. Let's not do something stupid." And, for God's sake, his eyes were _begging_. Sam had gotten stronger—a lot stronger—in that past year, but he was as scared now to be left alone as Dean had ever been. Afraid of what he might become alone. Maybe they weren't all that different, after all.

Dean nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But you're not back by three a.m., I'm coming looking."

Sam slanted him a smile. "I'm counting on it."

"And if you come back drunk, I'm not putting you to bed."

"You're all heart."

"Well, I try." _Be careful _and _I will _and _I worry about you _without a single mushy word spoken. Why couldn't it always be that simple?

00000

Sam had straggled in around two, smelling like cigarette smoke and liquor, tossing a handful of bills on the table and burrowing into bed without more than toeing his shoes off. Dean grinned fondly—he really did like having some things he could count on—threw a blanket over him, and went to bed himself because, yeah, he'd been waiting up. What about it?

They'd been too busy getting out of the frying pan and, hopefully, the fire to really look for a job, so the morning was spent on research. Sam looked only a little bleary-eyed from his late night. Dean read as much as his restlessness would let him, then got up and peered out through the curtains at his car. He could just see her bumper from the corner of the window, and she didn't seem to be attracting any attention. Good. Sad, because she deserved attention, but it was for the best. Dean returned to the table to keep reading for a whole twenty minutes before going to check again, to make his very limited rounds. Yup, brother intact, car intact. All was right with the world for the moment, and Dean tried not to look beyond that.

"You don't have to keep doing that."

Dean turned away from the window to look at Sam. "What?"

"Checking on the car. It's fine."

"Yeah, until some nosy cop notices it." Dean peeled himself from the glass and dropped back into his chair, trying not to sigh. Dean Winchester didn't sigh, but then, he wasn't usually cooped up like this, either.

"Nobody's going to notice it," Sam said.

Dean was about to shoot back an automatic _how do you know?, _when his brother's demeanor sank in. The offhanded comment, the eyes glued to the laptop—Sam _did _know. Dean's eyes narrowed, unease poking at him. "What did you do?"

Sam did look up then, amusement warring with something deeper in his eyes. "I didn't touch her, man, I swear. I wouldn't mess up your baby."

It was oddly not the least bit reassuring. Dean leaned in, more certain than ever. "Last night. What did you do, Sam?"

Sam met his gaze full on. "I cast a glamour over the car."

Dean stared at him, flummoxed. "What?"

"A glamour. An illusion that—"

"I know what a glamour is, Sam. But wha—? Why?"

"Why? Because the FBI and probably the ATF and every state and city cop is looking for us, Dean, and driving around in a classic muscle car isn't exactly the most inconspicuous way to hide."

And, really, he knew all that, but hearing it spelled out wasn't helping anything. "Okay, then how?"

"Dad's journal. It didn't have the ritual itself, but it told me where to look."

"And, what, it was that easy?" Dean couldn't quite wrap his mind around the concept; they'd never used spells & rituals casually. Then again, US law enforcement v. Dean Winchester wasn't exactly a casual threat.

"Yeah, pretty much," Sam was saying.

"And it didn't hurt the car."

"No—dude, give me some credit. I know how much you love that thing."

Dean ignored the slur and pivoted back to the window, suddenly anxious to see his girl. He couldn't see all the car from there, but from the front it looked…entirely normal. "Looks the same to me."

"I wasn't hiding it from you," Sam said with gentle exasperation. "Dean, I'm not stupid—even if it was the Impala underneath, I knew you wouldn't want to see and feel like you're driving—" He suddenly fell suspiciously silent.

Dean turned to him, frowning. "Driving what, Sam?"

"I had to make it something they wouldn't think we'd use."

"What?"

"Well, uh, remember Bobby's?"

True horror stirred in Dean's gut. "You've gotta be kidding me."

"To you, it's still the Impala, Dean. It'll feel and look exactly the same."

"Yeah, but to everyone else, including any hot women I happen to meet, it's a _minivan_." That whole _just when things couldn't get worse_ notion was starting to become eerily prophetic.

"Dean, if that agent knows as much about you as you said he does, do you think he'd ever look for you in a—"

"Soccer mom-mobile? No, and you know why, Sam? Because he knows I'd rather be dead than be seen driving one of those."

"Dean, man, it might come to that," Sam said quietly and way too seriously.

Dean looked at him. Shut the idea away of a freakin' minivan for a moment and put himself in Sam's shoes. His little brother, who'd pretty much kissed away any possibility of a law career with their last hunt, who only had Dean to look after him now and, at least in Sam's opinion, keep him from going evil, who'd pretty much given up everything for this life, the demon, his big brother.

Yeah, okay, maybe a minivan wasn't the end of world. Close, but…Dean had flirted with the real thing before. He could deal with this. At least Sam hadn't offered to throw a glamour over them, too. Yet.

"Okay," Dean mumbled.

Sam smiled. It changed his whole face, and Dean's whole mood.

_"But." _

Attentive puppy look, ready to do whatever Dean asked in return.

"Not a minivan. Make it one of those carbon copy Toyotas we see a million of out on the road, okay? No cop's gonna look twice at it, and I'm never getting laid in a minivan."

Sam's smile grew. "Yeah, all right."

"And, dude." Solemnly. _"Black."_ He'd take permanence where he could get it.

A man had to draw a line somewhere.

**The End**


End file.
